


What Falls Away

by wesleysgirl



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for TheFerretGirl in exchange for a donation to <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/community/the_fund/">the_fund</a>.<br/>Many thanks to Briesas for the beta, helpful suggestions, and title</p>
    </blockquote>





	What Falls Away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TheFerretGirl in exchange for a donation to [the_fund](http://www.livejournal.com/community/the_fund/).  
> Many thanks to Briesas for the beta, helpful suggestions, and title

  
  
  


_This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.  
What falls away is always. And is near.  
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.  
I learn by going where I have to go.  
\- "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke_

  
  
A shadow loomed in the doorway, but Wesley didn't look up. The constant parade of nurses, doctors, and   
hospital technicians had slowed some over the past twenty-four hours, but not so much that he didn't   
know what to expect by now. A moment passed, and no one bustled into the room. No one spoke in a   
cheery, overly solicitous voice.  
  
Wesley looked up.  
  
Rupert Giles was standing in the doorway, his shoulders relaxed and his hip pressed casually against the frame.  
  
Wesley blinked.  
  
"Hello, Wesley," Giles said.  
  
Wesley blinked again. He realized that he was being unwelcoming, and before he thought about   
how it would sound, he asked, "What are you doing here?" Oh yes, smooth -- as if there were   
anything _less_ welcoming he could have said.  
  
"I came to see how you're doing."  
  
"How do you think?" Wesley couldn't decide between kicking himself in the arse for acting like   
one and just hoping that if he were rude enough Giles would go away. The latter being what he   
would do if he wanted to be alone. He couldn't decide about that, either.  
  
Giles took a step into the room, still relaxed, casual. "I think you must be feeling very   
bitter and angry."  
  
"Yes, well... feel free to collect your prize on the way out." Wesley winced, as much at the   
sound of his own voice as at the pain of speaking.  
  
"I came to take you home."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your friend Fred phoned me the other night. She seems like a nice young woman."  
  
"She shouldn't have bothered you," Wesley said. "You shouldn't have come all this way."  
  
"I came further than you might think," said Giles mildly. "I was in London."  
  
"Then you _really_ shouldn't have come all this way. I don't need your help."  
  
"Fred didn't seem to think that was the case. She was concerned about the thought of you being alone."  
  
"Well. Perhaps she shouldn't have decided to side against me without listening to what I had to say."  
  
"She's worried," Giles responded. "She made _me_ worry. And I don't think she's sided against you, or she wouldn't have   
gone to the trouble of phoning me."  
  
A nurse came to the doorway with a handful of paperwork. "I just need you to sign a few forms, and   
then we can release you," she said, glancing at Giles.  
  
"I'm driving him home," said Giles, in answer to her unspoken question.  
  
"Oh, good," she said. She bustled over to Wesley and showed him where to sign, explaining his aftercare   
and which medications he'd have to take. "Okay, I'll be right back with your prescriptions, and then you're free to go."  
  
Wesley got up stiffly and went over to retrieve the neat pile of clothes that the hospital had sent through the   
laundry. The bloodstains had faded, although he could still see them because he knew where to look.   
Chances were good anyone else wouldn't notice. He looked at Giles and then went into the bathroom   
without saying anything, closing the door behind him.  
  
Wesley leaned against the closed door. He hated the way he was acting, but he was so bitter and resentful   
that all he wanted was to be left alone in his misery. Although he _did_ need a ride home. He'd just send   
Giles on his way after that, since Giles was obviously determined to be useful.  
  
When he came back out of the bathroom, dressed in normal clothes once more, Giles had moved to the   
window and was looking out.  
  
Giles turned and gestured to the wheeled table next to the bed. "The nurse left your prescriptions there."  
  
"Thank you." Wesley knew he sounded stiff and formal, and that he should be making more of an effort.   
"And... thank you for coming."  
  
"Yes, well... someone needed to." Giles looked slightly alarmed as Wesley scooped up the bottles of   
pills, dumped them into the cardboard box that Fred had brought, and turned toward the doorway.   
"The nurse is coming back with a wheelchair. I believe you're supposed to --"  
  
"What, wait?" Wesley asked, stepping out into the hallway. "What do you think they'll do if I don't,   
arrest me? Believe me, Rupert, keeping the hospital staff appeased is the least of my worries."  
  
Giles followed close beside him. When Wesley glanced at him, the other man had his hands stuffed into the   
pockets of his suede jacket and a casual look on his face.  
  
Wesley veered into the stairwell instead of going past the nurses' station to the elevator, and Giles   
followed without comment. By the time they reached the first floor, Wesley was surprised at how   
quickly his heart was beating -- his time in hospital had left him out of shape, it seemed -- and he   
was grateful when Giles held the door open for him.  
  
It was a bright, hot day, and the sunshine felt good on Wes' face as they crossed the parking lot -- him following   
Giles, now -- and found Giles' rental car.  
  
"It smells of cigarette smoke," Giles said apologetically as he unlocked the door for   
Wesley and opened it. He reached out for the box Wesley was holding, and after a brief   
hesitation Wesley handed it over and sat down in the passenger seat. Giles put the box   
in the back as he continued to explain, "I hadn't a car reserved, so I had to take whatever   
was available."  
  
Wesley didn't know what to say, so he sat quietly until Giles had started up the car and driven to the   
end of the parking lot. Then the car pulled to a stop and Giles looked at him, again apologetically.   
"I'm sorry, I don't know where you live. Actually, Fred gave me the address, but..."  
  
"Take a right here," Wesley said, interrupting before Giles could continue.  
  
When they reached Wesley's apartment building, Giles insisted on carrying the box of Wesley's belongings,   
and Wesley let him. It was easier than arguing. Wesley had to pause once on the stairs to catch his   
breath, and Giles waited patiently without saying anything.  
  
He managed to get the door unlocked with some difficulty, and went inside, leaning on the doorknob as he   
gave Giles the space to enter.  
  
"Sit down before you fall down," Giles said roughly, taking Wesley by the elbow and propelling him toward the couch.  
  
"I'm fine," Wesley protested, but sank gratefully down onto the cushions just the same, more than a bit   
alarmed at the way his legs had been trembling.  
  
"You're not fine, you've just gotten out of hospital after a life-threatening injury," Giles told him, setting the   
box down on the table in front of Wesley and moving toward the kitchen. "Shall I make some tea?" It   
seemed the question was rhetorical, as Giles was already filling the kettle with water and setting it  
on the stove. "You do have proper tea?"  
  
Wesley nodded, but Giles wasn't looking at him. Perhaps that question had been rhetorical as well. His   
throat ached unbearably, so he leaned forward and poked around in the box until he came up with the   
bottle of painkillers they'd given him and set it on the table beside the box.  
  
"Everyone in Sunnydale is well," Giles was saying, as he spooned tea into the pot. "I left several months ago,   
but from all reports Buffy and the others are... adjusting to her return." He continued to make light,   
casual conversation as he finished making the tea and served it, then sat down on the other end of the   
couch and just looked at Wesley. "Would you like to tell me what happened?"  
  
"No, not particularly." Wesley shifted uncomfortably, then opened his bottle of pills and took two with a sip of tea   
that was too hot. When Giles failed to respond. he shrugged slightly. "Don't you already know?"  
  
The corners of Giles' mouth pulled downward. "I did manage to get a fair bit out of Fred, yes. But I'd like to hear your side of it."  
  
"My side of it?" Wesley almost laughed, although no part of him found any of this even vaguely amusing. "No, Fred   
wasn't interested in hearing that, that's true. What did she tell you?"  
  
Giles looked thoughtful. "That there was some sort of false prophecy," he said slowly. "That you were   
convinced that Angel was going to kill his son, and got it into your head that the only way to avert the   
situation was to take the child away, and that somehow someone named Holtz got his hands on the   
baby instead." He took a sip of his own tea. "It was rather a shock to find out about the baby at all, actually."  
  
"Yes. For us as well." Wesley was managing to find some detachment in this -- one of the benefits of a Watcher's   
training, at least. "They shouldn't have been able to have a child. I suppose that's one of the reasons the prophecy   
seemed so likely to be real."  
  
Giles nodded. "Yes, the occurrence of such a rare, unprecedented event would lend itself to that sort of thing, wouldn't it."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Wesley sat looking down into his tea cup for a long while, until Giles said, "Well. Perhaps you should get some rest."  
  
Anxious to take refuge in the excuse, Wesley feigned a yawn and set his cup down on the table. "Yes, I probably should."  
  
"If you don't mind, I thought I might spend the night on your couch," Giles said, gesturing at it. "I can get a hotel room   
in the morning, but it's rather late now, and what with the jet lag..."  
  
"Yes, yes, of course," Wesley said, wanting only to escape. "It's the least I can do."  
  
"Sleep well," Giles said.  
  
In his bedroom, with the door mostly shut but not latched, Wesley lay on the bed for a long time, staring   
at the ceiling. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking. The memory of Angel's voice   
as he'd held the pillow over Wesley's face was sharp and loud, almost ringing in his ears, and there was   
nothing he could do to get rid of it.  
  
When Wesley finally fell asleep, after hours of thinking in circles, it was a relief.  
  


* * * *

  
  
Wesley shuddered into wakefulness with a strangled shout and scrabbled for the bedside light,   
needing to see. Needing to make sure that he wasn't lying on the packed dirt, that he wasn't still   
bleeding. The lamplight flooded the room with a soft white glow, and he brought his fingers to his   
throat gingerly. He had to touch the bandage there twice, and look at his hand twice, before he believed that it had just been a dream.  
  
There was a soft knock at the door, and before he could even respond it was pushed open hesitantly. Giles' face,   
looking pale in the dim light. "Wesley? Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," he said, but it came out sounding shaky and false.  
  
The door creaked open a bit more, and Giles leaned on the frame. "You're sure? You sounded..." He   
didn't seem to know how to continue. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
Wesley was sure there was a proper answer to this question, but damned if he could find it. Instead he  
just stared at Giles for a long moment, and then wordlessly shook his head.  
  
Giles took a step into the room. "You're sure you're all right?"  
  
"It's... probably the medication," Wesley told him.  
  
"Still, if you wanted me to sit up with you for a bit... I wouldn't mind." Giles came another   
step closer, his head tilted to one side questioningly.  
  
Again, Wesley couldn't respond. The room was full of shadows and just breathing seemed to be a struggle.  
  
Apparently coming to a decision, Giles crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.   
Wesley was in the center, so there was plenty of space between them, but even still he felt   
surprisingly comforted by the other man's presence. "Lie back," Giles suggested. "I'll just   
stay here for a little while until... well, until you're feeling better."  
  
Wesley hitched the pillow up and reclined against it, not quite lying down. Part of him wanted to be stubborn   
and protest that he was fine, that he didn't need the company... but the weaker part of him was grateful.   
"Why did you come?" he asked, gruffly, surprising himself with the rudeness of the question.  
  
But Giles didn't seem to take it that way. "I already told you -- because I was worried. I didn't think you should be alone."  
  
"That's exactly what I should be," Wesley said bitterly. "That's the place I earned for myself."  
  
"You made a mistake," Giles told him, his voice impossibly soothing. "A mistake anyone in your position might   
have made. It was an error in judgement -- that's all. You mustn't let it become something more."  
  
"I don't know why Fred called you," Wesley said. "She told me never to come back to the office. So why would she care...?"  
  
Giles reached out and patted Wesley's knee through the blanket. "I believe she said that because she   
was trying to protect you. Oh, I'm not saying she wasn't angry -- isn't still angry -- that you didn't say   
something to her before you did what you did. But she didn't want..." His voice trailed off, and the look   
in his eyes was far away.  
  
That was when Wesley remembered that Giles also had some less-than-fond memories of Angel. Well, Angelus, but   
the face was the same. "And you really came all this way just to check up on me?"  
  
Giles frowned. "You aren't seriously suggesting that I have some ulterior motive?"  
  
It _was_ a fairly ridiculous proposition, Wesley decided. "The Council..." he began hesitantly.  
  
"As far as the Council is concerned, I've taken a personal leave of absence," Giles said. "They don't know where I am or   
what I'm doing, and I intend to keep it that way." More gently, he added, "I'm here as your friend, Wesley."  
  
That made Wesley relax. "Thank you," he said. "And... do you think we could talk about something else? Otherwise   
I'll never fall asleep and you'll end up sitting here all night."  
  
A small grin quirked the corners of Giles' mouth. "I'll tell you about what I've been up to since I went back to England, shall I?"  
  
Wesley nodded and slid down a bit further in the bed, stifling a genuine yawn.  
  
The sound of Giles' voice washing over him lulled him quickly back to sleep.  
  


* * * *

  
  
When Wesley woke again, there was sunlight coming in through the blinds and a pleasant warmth   
pressed against his back. The frantic beating of his heart slowed as he regained control of his   
conscious thought; the comfort of lying in his own, familiar bed helped. He hoped that he'd soon   
stop being plagued by the nightmares and restless dreams he'd been having for the past few weeks.  
  
Wesley turned over cautiously, wincing a bit as the scar tissue at his throat pulled sharply, to discover Giles' back facing his.  
  
He tried to remember falling asleep, but couldn't, not quite. Giles was lying on top of the blankets and still wearing his glasses -- the   
other man must have been too tired to go back to his bed on the couch and just fallen asleep here.  
  
Wesley felt guilty as he realized that Giles must be terribly jet-lagged. The lines on his face were somewhat smoothed   
out in sleep, leaving him looking a bit worn, but peaceful. He managed, somehow, to smell comforting -- some   
sort of cologne, something musky and warm. Gingerly, Wesley got up, folding the top blanket over and across   
Giles as he did. He crept very quietly from the room, pulling the door mostly closed behind him, and went into   
the bathroom.  
  
With the door shut, he started the shower, very careful not to look in the mirror. He knew that sooner or later he'd   
have to confront reality, but just now it seemed easier not to have to see it with his own eyes.  
  
They'd told him at the hospital that he shouldn't get the healing wound wet, but damned if he was going to take   
the time and effort to medical-tape plastic over the thing. He was taking enough antibiotics to sterilize a   
Howler demon anyway. He'd just chance it.  
  
Wesley did make an effort to keep his throat as dry as possible, but when he got out the bandage was damp around   
the edges and had to be replaced. He did the job quickly and efficiently, pretending his image in the mirror was   
someone else's.  
  
Wrapping himself in his bathrobe, he padded barefoot into the kitchen and looking thoughtfully from   
teapot to coffee pot before deciding on the coffee. He'd just gotten it going when he heard the faint   
creak of the bedroom door being opened. Giles came out, looking rather the worse for wear after his  
interrupted night's sleep.  
  
"Sorry," Giles said, gesturing back into the bedroom.  
  
"What for?" Wesley asked. "You're entitled to sleep." He managed not to add that Giles didn't need to be there in the first place.  
  
"Still, I only meant to stay until... well. How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'm fine," Wesley said, his voice short and clipped.  
  
"You don't sound it," Giles said. "Oh thank god, coffee."  
  
Wesley smiled despite himself. "That's about how I'm feeling toward it just now," he admitted. "I think   
I could sleep for a week and not catch up."  
  
Nodding, Giles sat down at the kitchen table. "It might only take me a few days, but I can sympathize.   
There's no need for you to be up, you know. Go back to bed if you like -- I promise I won't take up half your space again."  
  
"I didn't mind," Wesley said. "Granted, it's been some time since I've shared my bed with anyone, but -- " He felt   
himself flush and turned on the pretense of checking the coffee machine. "I think it's best that I get back to my   
usual schedule as soon as possible."  
  
Giles came over and opened a cupboard, finding the mugs on the first try; Wesley realized after a moment that   
Giles had already been in the kitchen the night before. "It will be rather difficult to do that, won't it?" Giles asked gently.  
  
"No," Wesley said, stubborn. "I can continue to do the same work regardless of whether or not I'm working with   
Angel Investigations." It was harder than he'd imagined to say Angel's name out loud.  
  
Reaching past Wesley and picking up the coffee pot, Giles poured two cups and handed one to Wesley.   
"You're very determined to pretend this isn't important, aren't you."  
  
It was a statement more than a question, and it made Wesley angry, although he did his best to hide it. "I can't let it be," he said.  
  
"Believe me, I understand the temptation to work through this," Giles said. "But I've also learned that it's   
important to take the time to acknowledge the significance of what's happened. If you don't, it will come   
back to haunt you, most likely at the worst possible time."  
  
Wesley looked at his coffee, then set the cup down on the counter. "Yes, well, I don't recall asking for advice."  
  
"That's because you're in denial about the fact that you need it," Giles said, almost coldly. If nothing else,   
his tone got Wesley's attention. "Listen to me, Wesley. I'm here to help you, but I'll go if you tell me to.   
Think about it. Think about what you want."  
  
Going to the window, Wesley stood looking out. The sunshine was bright, and the world outside moved   
along as though unaware that anything had changed. He was painfully aware of Giles standing in the   
kitchen behind him, and even more painfully aware that he didn't have anyone else. Gunn, Fred,   
Cordelia, Lorne... they all sided with Angel. "Don't go," he said, before he even realized that he was about to speak.  
  
Giles came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, and Wesley closed his eyes against the burning   
sting of tears. "Good," Giles said. "I'm glad." His thumb rubbed against the back of Wesley's neck. "And not   
just because I wasn't looking forward to heading back to England less than twenty four hours after I got here."  
  
Wesley turned and looked at him. "I don't want to be alone," he said rather desperately.  
  
"You're not," Giles said, sliding his hand down along Wesley's arm in a comforting gesture. "You're not alone."   
He opened his arms slightly, and Wesley stepped into them as if he'd embraced Giles a hundred times   
before. "It's all right," Giles said, his breath warm against Wesley's ear.  
  
"I didn't want any of this to happen," Wesley said, his own arms around Giles' waist. "I just wanted to protect Connor."  
  
"I know," Giles said soothingly.  
  
"I... I made such a terrible mistake," Wesley said. It might have been the hardest thing he'd ever admitted to. "It's all my fault."  
  
"You didn't intend for any of it to happen," Giles said, repeating his own words back to him, his hand on Wesley's   
hip in what felt like a very intimate spot. "We'll sort it out. We can't undo what's been done, but we can find a   
way to make it better. To make amends."  
  
"I can't bring Angel's son back," Wesley said brokenly.  
  
"Maybe you can," Giles said. "Maybe there's a way."  
  
Wesley pulled back to look at Giles' face. "You know something," he said.  
  
"There are books," Giles said.  
  
"Aren't there always?"  
  
Giles chuckled. "Yes. Yes, there are. But in this case, I actually have them in my possession, and   
tomorrow, when you've had some more sleep and you're feeling a bit stronger, we'll go through them   
together and sort out our plan of attack."  
  
"Tomorrow?" Wesley said. "Why not today?"  
  
"Because you're trembling where you stand," Giles said frankly. Wesley hadn't even noticed until   
just then. "Come on -- let's get you back to bed where you belong."  
  
Somehow, it was easy to let Giles take charge, so Wesley allowed himself to be led to the bedroom and   
settled beneath the covers. The light was still off, and as Giles finished adjusting the blankets, Wesley   
reached out and grabbed his hand. "Don't go," Wesley said. He knew Giles would understand what he   
meant when he added, "I don't want to be alone."  
  
There was only the slightest pause before Giles slipped into bed beside him, putting a hesitant arm around Wesley   
and pulling him close. "Get some sleep," Giles said. "I'll be here."  
  
And, for the first time since he'd translated the prophecy that had spun reality out of control and left him   
reeling, Wesley thought that he might sleep peacefully.  
  
  
  
End. 


End file.
